Beauty

I see paper gardens
Well-trimmed lace gardens
Flowers in neat rows and
A view of the lake
Beautiful gardens
Someone must work very hard
To care for them
Gardens and glass greenhouses
Mixing in a modern twist
(White flowers, they say, are romantic)
Gardens built by people
With the time and money to spare
Nothing gets done
These days
Without time and money
They bought and built beauty
Lawns and beds of flowers
Perfectly shaped trees that
Hang overhead just enough
So you feel sheltered, but not stifled
Everything within boundaries
Everything elegant and contained.

Rain is the sadness that starts in the fall.
Rain is the sorrow of god and of all.
Rain is the tears of those who cry.
Rain is what makes wet from dry.
Rain is like truth of all and of past.
Rain does not forever last.
Rain is never queens nor kings.
Rain is the life of all things.
Rain is not shadow nor dust.
Rain is an important trust.
Rain is a beautiful sight.
Rain is just waiting for light.
Rain is the beginning of beauty itself.
Rain has taught me to be myself.
Rain is my one true friend.
Rain is always the start not end.

O, 'tis the song I am listening to
that tells me of purity true
and a ruler that such purity fuels
and which I stop listening to.
See a metal flower bloom and
Ipods play a merry tune,
While laughter echoes
in the recycled towers
and then I think of life back then
Men, even girls, lived in dens
and the sky was blue
and all of this was true
and as I close my eyes
and look up to the skies
I see
What true beauty means to be

Look in the mirror
Reach for your make up bag
We already can't see your face behind that mask of foundation of yours
We already can't tell what shape your eyes really are from the way you apply eyeliner.
Pump your mascara brush
Dab some powder on your nose where skin is starting to show.
Do you really believe what the magazines tell you about getting beautiful
Buy this, wear that, don't eat that
You'll be runway material in no time.
What do you really look like underneath it all?
Are you really that unhappy that you need to cover everything up
Show midriff

I have many names,
no two alike.
Sometimes it changes with each day
or with my mood
or with each person I see.
I trade a name fraught with mold
to a name wrought with gold,
and accept the new me from the people I see.

(But today wasn't so.)

I'm falling apart -
the delicate shell I'd worked so hard to attain,
the shield I've been working so hard to thicken and preserve,
is flaking away with the radiation of
that boy's two words,
and my tears are easily melting whatever had been
left.

I have many names,
but all he had to say was,
"She's ugly,"
and suddenly my name had shifted again.

Phantom cat

By Charlotte Rutz
Champlain Valley Union High School, Grade 9

The cat jumps from ledge to ledge without hesitation
Paws gliding softly over the snow
As she runs along the mountain ridges.
The snow is her friend
Keeping her hidden from danger
And allowing her to hide when she is hunting.
Lying perfectly still
She is unobserved by all who pass by her
But is ready to pounce at any moment.
Shrouded in a dappled gray coat
She is the beautiful, elusive, magical
Snow leopard.

AP English college essay...

Prompt (paraphrased because I don't feel like typing it all out): Beauty is everywhere. What's something you love because it reflects a kid of idiosyncratic beauty? These things can reveal (or conceal) our identity; so describe something that tells us who you are (or aren't).

(Again, sorry for the awful title.)

I wish I had freckles,
Like stars in the sky.
Scattered across everywhere,
Leaving beauty in unseen places.
I wish you’d find my constellations,
Find my Orion, my little dipper.
Connect the dots with your fingers.
Leave my stars longing for more.
I’ll shine bright for you.
Climb onto your rocket and,
Be my astronaut.

Whatever We Feel They Should Mean

I believe in words,
the words we speak when we have nothing to say,
the words we tell others when they’re down,
the hurt or trust behind them,
beauty, loyalty, courage.

But the belief that one doesn’t know what to say is false;
the truth is they are just too scared to say it.

I believe that words can be made up.
I believe that by saying the words we feel, we are relieved of pressure, loneliness.
I believe that words can mean whatever we feel they should mean,
hope, love, faith.

And I believe that we can change what others think,
just by the way we say our words.

~Michaela O’Brien

Rock Hunting

Picking up a rock
studying it
the beauty or the ugliness,
just the pleasure of picking up a hard rock.
It could be any color.
You decide if it is good enough to keep.
Your rock.
Just a little rock can make a big difference.

COLORFUL LEAVES CRUNCHING
BEAUTIFUL VEIWS IN THE DISTANCE
HEAR BIRDS SING

Walking down the boardwalk, i notice the sun setting to my left as the trees sway slightly in the sea breeze. The sky is a peaceful pink, with orange framing the horizon. My thoughts wander when i see this beautiful sunset, and i start to feel the love for this place yet again. Day after day i feel the drag, the craving for home, yet as i walk each night, the feeling overcomes my fear. I am in a new place, yet my surroundings are familiar, and lovely to the eye. An osprey calls over the open water, returning to his nest to feed young as he flies. I feel lonely, with the same sense of boredom as i have felt for a while now. My life resembles a bud trying to open in march instead of april. Held back by the inconveniences of our planet, i am forced in a skin that does not belong to me. Who am I, and why can't i bloom? I know why, i am being held back of course.

Resting on the window sill, the outline of her body was visible. The line of symmetry on her face divided it into a shaded area and a bright area, from the light source also known as the sun. The features on her face were impeccable, much like a piece of art. Her legs stuck out from under her body as she stared out into the vacant parking lot. Eyes surrounded her, though she was unaware. Her hair flowed onto her rounded shoulders. Her eyes glowed like the moon on a clear night. She pursed her shiny, red lips, as she squinted into the sunlight. Suddenly, her bare legs fell flat on the ground. Her lips shaped into a smile. Her perfect white teeth were evident for a moment. Her hair sprung as she leaped up. I was astonished as her legs made their way towards me. I awkwardly smiled, thinking that she was going to talk to me. She reached her hands out, as I had a bewildered look on my face, thinking this perfect stranger would hug me for no apparent reason.

Resting on the window sill, the outline of her body was visible. The line of symmetry on her face divided it into a shaded area and a bright area, from the light source also known as the sun. The features on her face were impeccable, much like a piece of art. Her legs stuck out from under her body as she stared out into the vacant parking lot. Eyes surrounded her, though she was unaware. Her hair flowed onto her rounded shoulders. Her eyes glowed like the moon on a clear night. She pursed her shiny, red lips, as she squinted into the sunlight.

She was alive so long ago
The princess of the land
Her beauty was known everywhere
And every man wanted her hand in marriage
But none of them would get the opportunity
Because of her beauty
A war broke out in the country
And he castle was invaded
She tried to escape in a hooded robe
As a shadow in the night
But as she turned the corner
She came upon a knight
Who swiftly impaled her with his sword
Just trying to protect his princess
After the war
Her sister was asked to paint a portrait
Declaring the princesses beauty to the world
But she was jealous
And added features of her own
To strip the princess of her beauty
Now today
A thousand years later
The only memories of the princess
Are the portrait
And the mysterious spirit
Forever trying to escape
The beauty that traps her.

Siena Facciolo
Main Street Middle School, Grade 8

Leaping through the tangy grass, sweet from purple rains and folded songs. Smiles bouncing and laughter echoing through the mist, cutting into the flowery air. A crinkle in the eyes of a bluebird, a rustle in the smoky stillness, a delicious aroma wafting down the runaway stream -- these make the golden afternoon.

“This? You expect me to wear this?”
I gaze in astonishment at what I see:
A gaudy, lacy, pinkish-orange gown,
That would go down past my knees,
Rimmed with short, fluffy sleeves
That the frazzled director holds by the tips of her fingers
It is positively hideous, (at least, I think so)
And there is no way, absolutely no way
That I'm wearing this in front of a school filled with sarcastic middle school kids
I'm about to protest, but
The director glares at me,
And points to the dressing room,
Eyes scrunched together, face set in a tight glare
Grumpily, reluctantly, I stomp away,
Carrying my high boots for the costume
Miserably, angrily,
I mutter mutinously, stepping into a cramped stall
That smells of socks and metal and plastic tiaras,
Baggy pants, extravagant ball gowns, and feathered hats
Grumbling, I pull on the dress, with its lacy neck,
Low back, and gaudy design
I slide on the tall brown boots,
Ignoring their slightly horse-like odor

The Secret of Spring
By Maria Paula Mugnani

The crunch of snow as my feathery snow shoes
Walked by
is silent now
As I pause in my steps
The only thing left behind me is the past
My shadow silently following me
Invisible to me until the sun shines on the snow
My frosty white breath curls up into the sky
The wind sweeps past my cheeks
I smell that sweet spring scent
The forest is silent and still
Waiting
I continue walking
The trees stand straight and tall
Waking up with sleepy eyes
Peering at their first life form in months
As the sun shines her face on their bark,
Heavy snow tumbles down from their boughs
A rest for weary arms
Their frozen lips thaw and I hear them
Whispering in the wind behind me
I slow my pace
Try to be silent
Listen for the sound of raspy voices
Who have not spoken in months
The whispering stops
Their words are not for humans to hear
The wind wraps it's arms around me
"Later...Later..Spring...Spring"

The stars,
The most looked at things for their beauty.
But if I could look at your beauty
as much as those stars,
My life would be as full
as the world is with stars.

*For my Ali*

Walking on a frozen sidewalk
Trees glistening with white sparks,
As snow tumbles to the ground
Expensive boutiques pass me,
While on a famous avenue
Chanel, Burberry, de la Renta
A still figure in each window
In rhythm with the still snow
Holding hands on a holiday night
Winds snipping at your nose
Closed to the elegant stores
A blue box and white ribbon catches my eye
The silver necklace stands out like a piece of art
Catching the light like the sun
A thrill goes through me at the sight of beauty,
Almost feeling as if I’m Holly Golightly
Though needing to step back with a sensible view,
It remains in my head with a glitter and a spark

Beauty
By Leah Kanoff

What is beauty?
The shininess of a young girl’s hair as it glistens in the sun?
Or the single tear that falls from ones eye?
The aquamarine color in his eyes?
Or watching the poor young girl who sits on the hill and watches the sun rise?
What is beauty?
Beauty, the word that can contain a thousands meanings

What it is Like to Be a Vermonter

By Remo Plunkett
Rice Memorial High School, Grade 9

Although Vermont is a small state, nevertheless I am still very proud to call myself a Vermonter because Vermont has had a great impact on my life. When I visit cities around the country I realize how much I love the landscape and people that accompany our little state. Our state’s tourist numbers prove my point. Many out of state citizens enjoy Vermont very much, from the lake to the mountains. I am proud, and grateful to have these opportunities in my backyard. As a Vermonter I feel a responsibility to preserve these attractions so others who are not as fortunate to live in Vermont can partake in their beauty as well. To me being a Vermonter is a privilege as well as a responsibility.

Sunset
Lake
Beauty

Love it
Love Vermont
Love life

Reflection
Of sun
On the water

Awesome

I'm wondering
About you
About others

I don't
know why

Or maybe
I do

I miss you

And I don't

I can't
Write more

This is
What I
Know

Forgotten Beauty
By: Derrick Spalding

The aurora light beats down across the city.
It is unseen from the lights and tall buildings.
People have forgotten the Earths beauty,
And in return have gotten greed and wars.
If we take the time to watch the world,
And forget our troubles for a little bit,
Our lives would be better and purer.
Rainbows, stars and waterfalls have become
Blocked out by the ever darkening lives,
Of the Earths many beauties.

The Beauty of Life
By: Derrick Spalding

In life people are given the gift
Of dreaming, believing, and love.
Dreaming is how people achieve greatness.
Believing is how people obtain hope.
Love is how people learn to live.
They can’t not be destroyed,
Only broken and repaired,
Stronger than before.
People who won’t allow themselves,
To dream, believe, and love,
Will lead a lonely life,
Through the plains of despair.
But the beauty of life is,
The people around you will never
Stop dreaming, believing, and loving you.

The sweet smell
Of the air
Out here, all alone
In these woods
Surrounded by
A myriad of colors
And uncountable lives
Every step brings
Something new
To my senses
The sound of a bird
Calling to its mate
A bug climbing
Up the trunk of a tree
The sound of
A nearby stream
Where the fish
Are swimming freely
Going wherever
The current takes them
The bear lying in wait

Only the best words make it this far...
so many others die on the tips of my fingers.
whether they just lost spirit or soul... or died completely,
still, only the best words make it this far.
From my heart to yours,
i write with something inside me pushing me on.
It is about the beauty of these words...
simple, yet so vivid and alive...
weaving around my fingers as i spur them on,

I watch her in the library
as she leans over
the magazine,
and I watch
as her eyes
pop out
of her head,
rolling onto
the glossy pages
adorned with
Magazine Girls.

She sees beauty,

but all I see
is one more person
with stolen eyes.

At the party
he was dancing.
crazy
Two-step-thrash-ska-free-style
and
He was serious.
tired of it all
he copes.
acting.
On-stage-too-much-no-thoughts
and
no one understands.
once he smiled
for me
gladly
sang-those-words-with-a-point
and
crashed so silently.
all he wants
what he needs
trust me.
Swear-you'll-be-there-for-him
and
Never play those games.